


Taste

by orphan_account



Category: Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Alien anatomy, Canon Compliant, First Time, Fluff, Get Together, M/M, Mentions of Pon Farr, Post Amok Time, mentions of past Jim/Bones
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-07
Updated: 2018-03-07
Packaged: 2019-03-28 02:20:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13894191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Jim swallows, his throat suddenly tight.  “So.  Seven years.”“Give or take,” Spock says.  “It is not necessarily a bad thing, Jim.  It would be best, seeing as you are human, that we…work up to some of the things that I am capable of doing to you during pon farr.”





	Taste

**Author's Note:**

> So after doing something like this in my AU series, I decided I should probably get some Spirk fanfic written because that is my first and most loyal ship. 
> 
> You can find me at [han-yolo-13](https://han-yolo-13.tumblr.com) which is mostly Star Trek, Star Wars, and the occasional random post.

It happens in the most subtle of moments, when Jim thinks everything is normal, thinks it’s all gone back to the way it’s supposed to be. And okay, after something like he’s seen—not just Spock’s plak tow, or his pon farr, but also the way it was broken by Jim’s apparent death, and the way he _smiled_ like he’d never felt so much joy—it’s hard to call anything normal. Even after Spock had schooled his features back to what the crew was familiar with, there was a sort of almost…vibration, was the best way Jim could describe it. The way Spock seemed to be on the edge of _something_. And Jim would be a fool if he tried to say that there hadn’t been something building between them for years. Well, Jim was no fool. He had sensed it at the Academy, and had sensed it every day they careened through space.

Whatever they had, it was for life. It was something more than Spock would have experienced with T’Pring, and maybe that was because Spock had _chosen_ Jim after knowing who he was—after seeing Jim at his best, and his worst. At his strongest and his weakest. Spock had chosen him, Spock’s…whatever it was…had put the importance of Jim’s life over Spock’s very nature, and no one could ignore that.

Hell, Jim couldn’t ignore that. And neither could Bones, apparent in the ancient ache from the long-dead whatever between them which ended years and years ago. Jim isn’t able to ignore the looks Bones is giving the two of them now, as they sit around a table and shared some drinks, and old stories of Earth.

Spock, for obvious reasons, isn’t sharing bits of his childhood. He is listening though, a content look on his face—or as content as the Vulcan ever got. Then Jim says, “…but they all called me Jamie back then. My brother always called me that, and it stuck. I don’t know when it changed.”

Uhura laughs and says, “Jamie. That’s strangely the most adorable thing about you, Sir.”

It’s that moment it happens. Spock _blushes_ , and he _looks_ at Jim and their eyes connect and Jim feels it. Deep in his bones, he feels it. It’s fleeting, in a way, but it’s also pulsing under his skin and it leaves a burning echo which doesn’t fade over another drink, and then when Spock excuses himself from the table.

It doesn’t leave when Jim heads to his quarters and stands under a stream of hot water to unknot his aching muscles. It doesn’t leave when he slips into a pair of Betazoid silk sleep pants and crawls under his sheets and tries to ignore it—that and the aching hardness he doesn’t dare touch.

He wonders what it says about this, about them, that he doesn’t startle as his door slides open, and in the dark he can make out his First Officer standing in the doorway with an air of anxiety never, ever seen on the man.

“Spock.” The word is barely spoken, but like the clang of a gong in the silent room.

Spock’s shoulders tense, and he takes a step in, enough so that the door can close behind him.

Absently, Jim reaches over and hits the control to lock the door so no one can disturb them without his command. He hears the click of a throat as Spock swallows, and in the shadows sees the way the Vulcan’s jaw is working like wants to speak.

But no sound comes.

Jim shifts, pulls the bedding back. Spock is hesitant, dressed for bed, his feet bare and probably very warm. He reaches a hand out, pulls back, then seems to make a decision. He slides in, his body fitting alongside Jim’s in a way that again, should be startling, but isn’t.

In that moment, he’s too afraid to speak. He’s afraid to break the spell which has Spock there with him—in a place he hadn’t acknowledged he wanted Spock to be, and yet now wants to keep with a fierce desperation. He swallows thickly, dares to touch, just a brief brush of his fingers along Spock’s wrist.

Spock sucks in a breath, so unlike him it’s a little terrifying, but Jim refuses to let himself react that way.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, he says, “Are you alright?”

“I confess,” Spock says, slower than he normally speaks, “that I am feeling certain things that can no longer be ignored.”

Jim thinks of the faint green blush across Spock’s face, feels this bone-deep desire to see it all the time, to know, to _know_ he’s the one who put it there. “You can tell me anything,” he says.

“I am…aware.” Spock then adds as an afterthought, “Jim.”

Jim can’t help but smile, and he has a sudden, irrational urge to hear Spock call him Jamie in that tone he has. He doesn’t ask for it, though. He just stays silent and he waits, because though patience has never been his virtue, he thinks it might pay off this time.

Spock lays there on his back for a long, long time. Then he turns and holds himself up on his elbow and Jim can see the faint, leftover light glinting in his almond-shaped eyes. “On Vulcan, I was…relieved to have my bond broken. It has been many years since I have thought of T’Pring. So many I had forgotten what was coming, and what had to be done.”

Jim was damn well aware of that. Spock would have never let it come on so suddenly. “You’re alright, though.”

Spock nods, but it’s obvious he’s not done speaking because after a long moment, he sighs. Such a small, subtle gesture that reminds Jim there’s human lurking inside Spock. The thought sends a shiver up his spine in the best way. “I find myself…restless,” Spock says. “There is something that was not sated with the bond breaking.”

Jim feels that almost like a punch to the gut because he thought…well. Foolishly he thought maybe this was something else. “So it’s left over…”

“You misunderstand,” Spock says, so fast, like he’s desperate that Jim not jump to that conclusion, not even speak that between them. “My bond with T’Pring was broken, but easily I believe because a near bond had been created between me and.” He stops again. “Someone else.”

_Me_ , Jim wants to say, but doesn’t. “What does that mean?”

“It means I am…craving.”

The word is said in a tone Jim has never heard Spock use before, and God it leaves him wanting. His tongue is tingling with anticipation of putting it places. He breathes out, tries to control himself because he’s let himself linger in a slow simmer of want for Spock since just about forever and somewhere his subconscious had already come to terms with never being able to have this.

It’s almost too much.

“How can I help.”

There’s another pause, and then Spock drops down slightly, but raises his hand to Jim’s face and lets his fingers touch—the barest brush—along his jawline. “Jim.” The word is like a caress, and it’s almost enough to make Jim lose his grip on every ounce of control and coherence.

He shivers, and he shakes, and he can’t help but reach up and let his hand curl around Spock’s wrist. “I’m here,” he says.

In the dim light, he can make out a faint, upturn of Spock’s mouth as the Vulcan says, “I know.”

The word comes out like the acceptance of a vow, and Jim realizes he’s just made a promise though it was unnecessary because he made that long, long ago. Long before he agreed to die for Spock on Vulcan.

There’s a heated moment, and then Spock’s light touch on his face becomes a warm palm cradling his cheek, and then lips are on his. It’s so startling, so unexpected because Jim understands more than he wants to admit about Vulcan nature and their culture, and though he knows there’s human in Spock, he doesn’t ever expect to see it come out in this way.

Perhaps it’s the way he’s startled so it takes him a moment to respond, but it’s a moment long enough for Spock to tense up like maybe he’s made a mistake. Before he can pull back though, Jim’s got his hands on him, tugging him close, mouth parting and taking the long, slow, deep kiss he’s never let himself think about.

Spock’s mouth against his is very warm, and unpracticed, but it’s perfect in a way Jim thinks can only be _them_. His fingers dig into the soft fabric hanging off Spock’s shoulders, and Spock’s hand moves from Jim’s cheek to thread through the short hairs above his ears, to cradle the back of his neck, holding him firm in place.

They break apart in a series of sucking, pulling pecks, and Jim is damn near hyperventilating now, and pushing his forehead to Spock’s where he feels a burst of _something_ coming through. He wants more of it, he thinks, but doesn’t say it aloud. Maybe Spock can feel it.

“I thought you’d…” He swallows, his voice thick with arousal, and he lifts a hand from Spock’s shoulder to hold out two fingers because he knows this much at least.

Spock regards him for a long, long time. Then he carefully detaches his hand from Jim’s neck and brings two fingers to Jim’s. It’s warm, a strange sensation traveling up his arm as Spock’s fingers press, then move around the back of his hand, down to his wrist. There are no words in any of the languages Jim knows to describe this feeling, but he’s certain that only having Spock inside him could ever feel more intimate.

“Fuck,” he murmurs.

“That is…an adequate expletive.”

Jim laughs. He can’t help it. He drags Spock closer and he kisses him again even as their hands are still touching, and melding both human and Vulcan like this is just…it’s too much. Jim feels his orgasm sudden and cresting, and he manages to get a hand down his pants and around himself, squeezing to stop the inevitable because he’s not ready yet.

He feels dizzy with arousal and desperation, and he lets himself be pushed onto his back, and for Spock’s hands to push his pants down and cup him. He’s wet with pre-come and his dick is throbbing. The foreskin has pulled back slightly and he glances down to see the tip—red, red, _red_ and he lets himself imagine, just for a minute, that dick sliding in and out of Spock’s mouth.

He groans as Spock kneads him lightly with the heel of his hand and he wonders—the hand thing. Is this even more erotic for Spock? If he had the capacity to make words, he’d ask.

Spock takes his hands away just long enough to shed his own clothes, and Jim has, of course, seen him mostly naked before. Human and Vulcan share enough genetics and alleles that they can mate, so he wasn’t surprised to see something slightly alien, but mostly familiar. It’s only strange in the way that Spock is double ridged, and cut, and _green_ which is so hot it makes Jim want to cry. Or it makes him want to flip their positions and suck Spock until he cracks that Vulcan apathy and makes him beg for it.

None of those things happen. Spock kneels over him and pushes their dicks together, holding them with one hand as the other brushes over Jim’s lips, then threads into his hair and he _pulls_. It makes Jim think back briefly to learning that Vulcans once killed during their mating season and he realizes with a burst of heady want that this could get a little rough.

“God. Please,” he begs.

Spock quirks and eyebrow and kisses Jim before giving them both a firm stroke, just this side of uncomfortable because in spite of Jim being wet and his foreskin sliding, it’s still a little drier than he likes.

Then, however, Spock shudders and suddenly there’s something leaking from his cock in a thin, wet wave that coats them both and then Spock’s dick kind of vibrates against Jim’s and, “Holyfuckingshitwhat,” he gasps as Spock does it again.

“I am capable of bringing you a lot of pleasure, Jim. I would…like to do that now. It would please me.”

“Please, please.” It’s really all Jim’s capable of doing. The feeling is so intense, so overwhelming, his eyes roll back and his hands clutch the sheets and he has no other choice but to let Spock take him where he wants to go.

He comes so fast it should be embarrassing, but it’s not because how else was he supposed to react. Somewhere in the back of his mind where thought is capable, he thinks of how that will feel inside him and…and god. _God_.

Spock’s achieved his orgasm if the surge of more wet is anything to go by, or the way Spock’s breathing is slightly hitched, and he’s lost a lot of strength in his arms. He falls to the side, and stays curled against Jim. The wet is a little cold now, and very uncomfortable, but Jim thinks it’s going to be at least several hours before he can move.

“That was,” he says, when words finally come to him. He turns his head to see Spock looking at him. “I wasn’t expecting that.”

“By your lack of confusion as to my being here, I believe you are not telling the entire truth,” Spock says, just a hint of wry on his tone.

Jim can’t help but grin, or stretch his neck across the short distance and kiss him. Spock allows it, and it’s soft and warm and sweeter than before. “We can do that again, right? This doesn’t have to be…I mean. Is this a pon farr thing or…” He groans. “I don’t know enough about you.”

“That has always been true, and I believe will remain true, Jim,” Spock says, exasperatedly fond. “But I am happy to make sure we have years for you to try to prove that wrong.”

Jim rolls his eyes. “So tell me…”

“It was not pon farr,” Spock says, then in a lower, heady voice, “You would know it if it was pon farr, and we would not be finished so quickly.”

Jim swallows, his throat suddenly tight. “So. Seven years.”

“Give or take,” Spock says. “It is not necessarily a bad thing, Jim. It would be best, seeing as you are human, that we…work up to some of the things that I am capable of doing to you during pon farr.”

Jim’s entire body erupts into heat. “Okay.”

Spock huffs—the closest thing to a laugh, and he pulls the sheet over Jim’s naked groin. “If you wish to experiment closer to morning, then you should get rest now.”

And oh hell, Jim thinks that might be the best thing he’s heard in a long, long time.


End file.
